Story


D. stockings

The windows, curtained wet dust network,
Dark profile of a woman bent down.
Gray passers hard sneaking
Cargo evening gossip, tired erased persons.

Directly in front of windows - bright and hard -
Each passer threw rays lamp.
And in the rainy networks - not white, not black -
Each hiding - not young and not old.

It was, the vision of inanimate capital, –
By chance, accidentally come into beam.
disappeared back, there were persons,
timid, submissive discouragement low clouds.

And - unexpectedly sharply - heard the curse,
Cutting the strip if rain:
With his head open - someone in a red dress
He lifted into the air a little child…

Bright and hard, beam fell permanent -
And instantly the woman, night cheerful daughter,
Violently hit her head against the wall,
With a cry of ecstasy, dropping the child at night…

And crowded gray vision wet boredom.
Someone gasped loudly, shaking his head.
She lay on her back, rend rookie,
The dirty red dress, on the bloody pavement.

But from the open eye - the eye thrust audacious
All was looking for someone in the upper floors…
And I found - and met in the window curtains in
With the eye of a woman in a dark patterned lace.

We met and frozen in a silent scream eyes,
And the moment lasted… Street waiting…
But after a moment the curtains fell on top,
And at the bottom - in the eyes of the public - the force has died…

Died - and again in the rainy network thin
stentorian, discordant voices.
Someone picked up the crying baby on hands
AND, being baptized, furtively wiped his eyes…

But the top doubtful silent glass windows.
Tight white curtain deserted in the rain networks.
Someone gently stroked the child wet curl.
I went softly. And cried, leaving.

January 1905

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Alexander Blok
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